


Salt Water and Pig's Blood

by dr_reidsanchorsocks



Category: Lord of the Flies - William Golding
Genre: Animal Death, Blood and Gore, Ficlet, Gen, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Post-Canon, Ralph is only mentioned, Short One Shot, Wordcount: 100-1.000, World War II, idk what to tag, jack is fucked up okay, the prompt was basically write fanfic so i did and im posting it here cause y not, this was my final project for ap lang lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:22:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29501256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dr_reidsanchorsocks/pseuds/dr_reidsanchorsocks
Summary: Jack's first dinner after being rescued from the island//post-canon drabble of what jack is like after the events of lord of the flies
Kudos: 5





	Salt Water and Pig's Blood

**Author's Note:**

> hi guys so this was just a little fic i had to write for my english class and i decided to post it cause y not? lemme know what u think i guess :) also i dont even know if anyone actually writes for this fandom but whatever
> 
> TW:  
> \- implied mental illness  
> \- very very vague reference to domestic abuse  
> \- blood  
> \- mild references to killing animals

The wood was hard and cold under him. He was still half-naked, face covered in makeshift warpaint; hair tinged a brownish green from the days of the island. Skin pricked with goosebumps as the fan in the kitchen blew the stale air directly into his face. There was a silence he couldn’t bear, aside from the fan and synthetic buzzing of the refrigerator the house was dead quiet. The clinking of utensils grated on his ears and he wished for the usual whooshing of the sea and whooping of the boys he’d come to know as his hunters. The atmosphere was dense, he was unused to being a child. 

“Jack?” He looked up at his mother to see her hopeful face. He couldn’t help but scowl in disgust. Didn’t she know he was the one in charge now? He was the one who people bowed down to. He straightened his posture and looked at her, fighting the urge to turn away once he saw her eyes growing moist with unshed tears. He prayed she wouldn’t start crying, he needed to stay in control. Her smile was pained, and it almost was enough to make him feel like a kid again. Almost enough to break him.

“Yes Mother?” The name felt foreign on his tongue. It’d been so long since he’d thought about her. He wondered if he should feel guilty, but he couldn’t. The island had become his only concept of home over the past few months. He never even considered the possibility of sitting at this dining table again, let alone seeing his mother. Ralph had been continually obsessed with being rescued but Jack knew that island was the best he’d ever have. Freedom, power, control. Everything he didn’t have in this world and everything he ever wanted in his old life. He looked down to the Shepard’s Pie on his plate, repulsed. Accustomed to the pork he’d hunted on the island along with the – albeit insipid – fruits, his stomach growled in distaste. 

“Are you going to eat any of your food?” Her voice was shaky and on edge. He wondered if he scared her; if she knew what had gone on when he was left unsupervised. Maybe he wanted to scare her. He looked down at his utensils, the knife in his hand, could still feel the way skin tore on a pig while it was being gutted. He grew to enjoy the sensation of blood dripping on his hands, he missed it. Really everything on the island, he still missed. He knew he should’ve cried like Ralph, should have felt guilty, regretful, ashamed, sickened, something. He knew he should at least pretend, lest his mother decide it was finally time to institutionalize him. But he couldn’t. He’d changed while on that island, all of them had, and he wasn’t sure he was ever going to be able to cry the way the rest of them had. Not anymore.

“I’m not hungry.” He looked at her again, her eyes faced her plate, hair was falling in front of her face as she avoided his empty expression. He was still only a kid, but he didn’t feel like it anymore. He could place her body language as the same from when his father was around. He knew he’d grown decades over those few months while on the island, maybe not in stature, but in a way that counted. 

“You must be,” she was still intensely interested in the napkin placed on her lap, voice eerily pitchy, “Look at you, you’re all skin and bones.” He knew he’d grown rather skeletal from his diet of pork, probably indigestible fruits, and fishes, but that did not make the meal in front of him any more appetizing. His mother’s hands were fiddling with her dress and she was very obviously anxious around him. 

“Well, I suppose you’re wrong. Mother.” Standing up, he pushed his plate away and his chair back. It scraped the floor and hit against the wall. He saw her flinch. “I prefer pork.” With that, Jack Merridew stalked up to his second-floor bedroom. The next day there was a black car waiting for him outside, and a brochure for the Maudsley Psychiatric Institute operating out of Belmont Hospital. He’d never been to Sutton, and while driving past the small houses and destruction wreaked by the recent bombings, he closed his eyes and dreamt of salt water and pig’s blood.

**Author's Note:**

> hi hope u thought that was fun!! thanks for reading and leave a kudos/comment/whatever if u liked it i guess :)


End file.
